


Seeking Spirits

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Series: Making Enemies Is As Easy As 1, 2... [1]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Adventures, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Gen, a young fae goes seeking out a Guardian, listen stuff went down post-canon, movie canon, that's the gist of it, the dawning of a new age...., this features the aftermath and the beginning of a new era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Spark Blackdash loves the stories of the Guardians, but there’s one story that doesn’t sit right with him.This is his attempt to right the wrong he can so clearly see.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this AU for a long time tbh and if you clicked on it _thank you_.
> 
> This first one is primarily OC-centered, but on God there will be canon characters in the other parts.
> 
> Since this is already written in its entirety I'll probably put up a chapter each week? If we're lucky by the time I finish doing that I'll have the next couple parts finished lol.
> 
> Anyways enjoy!!

Few alive today remember the last time that Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, attempted to take control of the world―even those who, reasonably,  _ should _ remember often do not until prompted. Only the Guardians, a once almost pitifully small group of immortals that has grown significantly over the centuries, remember the last attack, and even then only the oldest of the group remember personally.

The Guardians consist, now, of not only Nicholas Saint North, Toothiana, E. Aster Bunnymund, and Sanderson Mansnoozie, but also of a fire spirit named Jamie Sparks, his little sister Sophie (a nature spirit of sorts), his best friend Jaiden Aburi, and a wonderful little Fae named Thea Shadowfeather. The big four, along with Jamie, recall with unbelievable clarity the last attack, even all of these years later. However, as Sophie was very young when it happened, Jaiden was not involved, and Thea was not yet even born, none of them remember. Sophie is, in fact, barely even aware that it happened.

But happen it did, and its occurrence was instrumental in the bringing of the new four into the fold of the Guardians. Without the great battle, without the final struggle with Pitch, three of the new Guardians would never have gotten involved in the immortal world. Never would have done anything more than grow old and die as normal humans. The siblings certainly wouldn’t have done much other than slowly lose their belief as they aged.

How is this so? It’s quite simple.

Seven years after Pitch’s defeat, a pair of boys named Jamie Bennett and Jaiden Masters entered their hideout in an old abandoned house at the edge of town. The Guardians would remember Jamie as a steadfast believer who had assisted them in ridding the world of Pitch. And, though they never had to, they would have mourned him knowing that he perished in a fire that burnt that house to cinders.

Seven years after Pitch’s defeat, the fire spirit Jamie Sparks emerged for the first time into a cool winter’s night, accompanied by the smoke (and ash) spirit Jaiden Aburi, rising from the collapsed and charred remains of that very same house like phoenixes from the ashes.

Twelve years after Pitch’s defeat, a girl named Sophie Bennett suddenly gained an unbreakable connection to Mother Nature and was eventually gifted immortality, joining Jamie and Jaiden in their still-new lives as spirits.

Nearly a hundred years later, Thea was born. At very nearly the same time, the three spirits officially joined the Guardians after finding their centers―Jamie as Joy, Sophie as Honesty, and Jaiden as Loyalty.

A hundred years after that, Thea joined their numbers as the Guardian of Wisdom.

There are also, of course, some assorted, scattered immortals across the globe who remember the attack. Who remember the sort of ordeal it had been for the Guardians to push Pitch back.

Who remember there was once another in their number. Another whose name hasn’t been uttered by the Guardians since a handful of years after Pitch’s defeat. Another who none have seen since that time, who has disappeared without a trace as far as the immortal world is concerned. Another who had been a key ingredient in Pitch’s downfall, and is now largely written out of the story for reasons unknown.

… At least by the Guardians.

The other immortals aren’t so squeamish about speaking his name, about telling his part in Pitch’s defeat.

And that is the way, of course, that the hero of our story comes to hear of him.


	2. To Sate Curiosity

Spark Blackdash was a strapping young Fae of maybe a hundred years old, tall and dark-skinned with almond-shaped deep brown eyes that crinkled when he laughed and stark white hair that had been cropped close on the sides and left shaggy and dark as night in the center. Being as young as he was, he teetered on the edge of adulthood while still holding firmly onto a childlike love for stories, and as such he all but _ lived _ to hear of the Guardians’ escapades. He was especially fond of the stories of Jamie and Jaiden, who were something of a packaged deal and always had been, and often he gave himself a good chuckle thinking that Jamie had his first name as a surname.

Still, as he so frequently sat before his grandmother, listening to her stories, he came to wonder about the story she always held back from telling―the story of Pitch’s final, grand defeat at the hands of the Guardians.

And, finally, when he asked about it on the eve of his hundredth birthday, she caved as she always did and told the story. She had always had a certain way with words―a way that allowed her to weave stories like intricate tapestries. It was no different this time, and when she finished he found himself only evermore curious. Who was Jack Frost? Where had he come from? Where had he gone?

His grandmother shrugged at the last question, “No one knows for sure,” She said, but her tone belied something more, “No one except the Guardians themselves.” With a head-shake and a low sigh she leaned closer and whispered, conspiratorially, “Though some say the Guardians are the reason he’s gone.”

She gave a final wink before shooing him away, saying something about such stories being a waste of his time when he could be out making friends.

He laughed her off, but obligingly left her be.

… But the thought she’d planted in his head wouldn’t leave him alone.

He found himself asking several of the older Fae in his section of the city about Jack Frost, and in practically no time at all he’d grown to be what some may call unhealthily attached to the frost spirit, especially considering that he’d never met him. He wanted desperately to meet him. To ask him where he’d gone and why… But to do that he’d have to find him, and everyone he’d spoken to more or less agreed that that was totally impossible.

After all―if someone was going to find him, wouldn’t they have done it by now?

… Well, everyone except old Lazuli agreed it was impossible, that was.

Lazuli was an ancient Fae that, admittedly, he’d only encountered by pure chance alone. She was tall and willowy in figure, milk pale with a thin face that housed slanted eyes so blue they nearly appeared white, framed by dark hair in a rainbow of muted colors that fell to her knees even braided as it was. She was also one of the few Fae gifted with a sixth sense strong enough to rival that of the even more ancient prophet Isla Wraith.

And, most importantly? She was older than Jack Frost. Several centuries older. And as such, she, unlike his grandmother who had heard the stories from her mother, knew what had happened back then firsthand.

“Jack did not simply go missing,” Lazuli said to him as they sat in their dark corner of the pub they’d met in. “There was a reason for his disappearance, and it was in no way his own doing.”

She spoke in hushed tones, as if making sure none of the others nearby would hear, and he lowered his voice to match. “Do you know what that reason was?”

Part of him sincerely wondered how in the world he’d come to be in this situation, exactly―sitting across from perhaps the most celebrated Fae not of royal or imperial descent still alive today in a lowly backstreet pub, discussing a Guardian who’d been missing for longer than he, himself, had even been alive. It wasn’t exactly the sort of event he’d ever expected. He hadn’t even ever expected the honor of _ meeting _ Lazuli Blackgrove, let alone speaking to her in such plain terms about something so… Unbelievably ordinary.

He forced the thoughts out and focused on the Fae before him.

Glancing around, she sighed, then nodded, leaning closer. “There was a conflict,” She told him, “Between he and one of the other Guardians. The other managed to convince the rest that he was right and that Jack needed to be gotten rid of.”

Startled, Spark could only suck in a breath and stare at her.

She nodded again, as if agreeing with the sentiment. “They locked him away somewhere no one would be able to find―but of course, that was before Jamie and Jaiden joined their ranks. I don’t doubt they would have put a stop to such nonsense had they been around.”

“... Do you know where they trapped him? Or why the conflict started?” Spark asked, some inner part of him igniting at the thought that maybe he could seek out Jack Frost and set things right… Because clearly what had happened was wrong. Clearly Jack didn’t deserve to be imprisoned. That just wouldn’t make sense!

Lazuli stared at him a moment, frowning as her eyes pierced into him. He felt like they were searching his very soul―and knowing Lazuli they may very well be. And then, finally, she smiled at him. “You have spirit, child.” A pause to take a sip from whatever was in her cup, “So I will tell you what you ask.”

“Thank you, Madame Lazuli.” Spark sighed in relief.

She winked, smile still firmly in place. “You are welcome. Now, listen close.”

He leaned closer rather than responding verbally.

“Good.” She sat her cup down, “Many, _ many _ years ago, less than a decade after the defeat of Pitch, Bunnymund and Jack got into a horrible quarrel. The shouting match is said to have lasted several hours… And at the end, Bunnymund had made it quite clear that he did not trust Jack as far as he could throw him. That he believed Jack was hiding something from them all, plotting something when they weren’t looking. He called him a monster to rival Pitch Black―heartless and as cold as the snows he created. No one knows for sure what caused the fight. Not even I.” She leaned even closer, voice dropping to a whisper as she spoke directly into his ear, “But I do know that the portal to his prison is not far from the lair of Skreeklavic Shadowbent, and I know that the only way to open it is to approach the doorway and-”

A loud thump from the other side of the pub promptly cut her off, and the two of them found their attention anchored to the source of the sound―a tall Fae with auburn hair who had trapped a smaller one beneath their long and spindly form. They appeared to be fighting, from what Spark could see, but they could have been doing any number of things. While Fae society often limited the sort of physical contact one could have without it being uncomfortable, there were still a laundry list of things that could lead to such close contact between two Fae, and the majority of them were very much at home in a dim pub such as this one.

Tearing his gaze from the display, Spark looked again to Lazuli. The old seeress continued to watch the other side of the pub for a long moment, expression nearly mournful.

When she turned back to Spark, the first words to leave her mouth were, “It pains me how violent our world remains, child.”

Spark found himself nodding, “I imagine you’ve seen more than your fair share of violence in your time.”

She nodded in return, sighing wearily, “But perhaps more people like you could change something―true peace will never be achieved, of course, because conflict is the driving force of life, but maybe… Just maybe… If there were more like you, more who wanted to right the wrongs done by others… Our world could flourish as it did in the Golden Age.”

“Maybe,” Spark agreed.

Sighing once more, she shook her head, “But you did not ask for my opinion on how to fix this planet,” A sly tone took up residence in her voice as she leaned close once more, “You want to free our beloved Spirit of Winter.”

Spark perked up, leaning back in so that they were face to face, noses nearly brushing together, “Yes. I want to set this right. Surely Bunny was wrong.”

His reaction caused Lazuli to grin, and it was only when she moved to speak into his ear again that he realized how incredibly close they were, and how odd it may appear to an outsider that such an ancient force as Lazuli was inhabiting such a large portion of his personal space, given he was what a great deal of Fae would consider to still be a child. He flushed slightly, but did not remove himself from his place. He simply stayed still and listened.

“To open his prison,” She uttered, “You must approach the doorway and say, with all the authority you have…” Her voice took on an almost ethereal quality as she managed somehow to drop the volume even further, just barely loud enough to hear. 

He sucked in a breath at the words that followed, committing them to memory as quickly as he could.

“It’s worth noting,” She continued, sitting back a bit, “That saying this will not bring him to you. You will have to venture into the prison and find him on your own. But the door will not close behind you.”

He nodded, “Oh… Okay. Okay. Thank you, Madame Lazuli.”

She winked to him, picking her cup back up and taking a drink. “But of course.”

He got to his feet, excusing himself―after all, he had an adventure to plan for now, didn’t he? Because he may be young, but he felt honor-bound to do this thing, now. Before, he’d just wanted to know what happened, had just wanted to learn the location of the Guardian of Fun, but now… He just couldn’t take the knowledge and leave Jack to his prison. He could only imagine how horrible it must have felt to be trapped alone for so long.

“Be careful, little Spark,” Lazuli said by way of farewell, “The journey will not be an easy one.”

“I know it won’t.” He returned, laughing a bit at the very thought of leaving home to search for a ‘lost’ Guardian.

His grandmother was going to faint, he was sure.


	3. Preparation

Informing his grandmother of his upcoming venture to the Carpathian Mountains was among the hardest things that Spark had ever had to do, he thought.

Excited though he was at the prospect of finally leaving his city on his own for the first time since coming of age to do so something like thirty years ago, he knew very well that he may not make it back. Venturing to the Carpathian Mountains in and of itself was dangerous―the mountain range was vast and as with many mountain ranges a single misstep could easily kill him―, but seeking out the lair of the Werewolfian horde to find an ancient prison? It was what most would call suicide. Even if he wouldn’t be entering the lair of Skreeklavic and his wolves, he would be skirting incredibly close, and werewolves… Well. They were understandably territorial. He could potentially be traveling into his death.

There was no way that news would go over well with his grandmother.

The only way to tell her, however, was to be straightforward with it. Beating around the bush would only make things worse. It would just make her worry for his safety with greater intensity the longer he floundered. So against what his rapidly closing throat wanted, he decided to tell her nonetheless, and to be as straightforward about it as he could.

He’d approached her chair and knelt, as he usually would, on the floor before her. His heart had made one hell of an effort to hammer its way right out of his chest. The only reason he wasn’t breathing any harder than he was amounted to pure determination… But at least he had that on his side.

“Gram-gram,” He’d said carefully, “I’m going on a trip. It could be dangerous.”

She’d asked what he sought to do, where he intended to go. That was expected, of course. He knew just telling her he was going on a trip wouldn’t suffice, wouldn’t sate the curiosity he knew he got from her.

He chose not to tell the whole truth and said he’d heard tell of an ancient, powerful area up in the Carpathian Mountains that he really,  _ really _ wanted to visit. And, of course, she’d been somewhat distraught―he was, after all, her only grandchild, and all the family she had left aside. She didn’t want him wandering into a trap and getting himself killed.

… She allowed the trip without much of a fight, however. She just insisted that he be careful, and that he try to stay in contact if he could.

He promised he’d do so.

And thus the true preparations began.

He spent the first week of his preparations conferring with some of the rather less upstanding Fae he occasionally hung around with in order to ascertain the exact whereabouts of Skreeklavic’s lair. He plotted the location on a map based on their directions… And then he asked one of the eldest he knew to check the map to be sure he was correct.

Holly Spidervale was, for want of more flattering descriptors, a despicable, dark-humored  _ terror _ of a woman who was several hundred years his senior―well and truly an adult by Fae standards. Her skin, in a perpetual, direct contradiction to her disposition, was a pale pink that tapered into lavender when it neared the edges of her somewhat chubby body. Her hands, bare feet, nose, and the tips of her slightly pointed ears were all pastel purple, as well as, assumedly, other parts of her body. Her hair was in perpetual baby blue beach curls, falling around her shoulders.

Spark would admit it without a fight―he thought she was incredibly beautiful. One of the most beautiful people he’d ever met. Physically she really couldn’t have been much more appealing if she’d tried.

Her personality, though… Was rather off-putting.

Even setting aside how fiercely independent she was and her tendency to belittle you if you were unlucky enough to not be in her inner circle, Spark couldn’t even  _ imagine _ a relationship with her. She was too cruel. Too jaded… Not to mention far too old for him. She may not look to be that much older than he was, but he knew the truth and it was enough to put him off even if he could  _ try _ to ignore the aggressive and downright rude personality.

She was beautiful, but she was not what he wanted.

What she  _ was, _ aside from beautiful, was a dangerous and crooked individual who knew Skreeklavic personally (and Spark could confirm that himself, having seen the two in pubs together here and there) and one of very few Fae who could very easily tell him if he’d mapped Skreeklavic’s lair correctly.

She pored over the map for a long moment after he brought it before her, tapping her finger on several spots and drawing careful lines between them and where he’d placed the lair. In the end, she grinned at him and told him he’d make a skilled cartographer (one of the highest compliments she’d ever paid him) before procuring a pencil from her coat and marking out the edges of the lair.

“Since I know ya’ve obviously marked this in order to avoid meeting Skreek on your little ‘trip’,” Her emphasis on the word clearly told him she didn’t believe he was just adventuring, “You’ll want to skirt at least half a mile ‘round the lair wherever ya can while you’re lookin’ for your magic ruins or whatever.”

“Got it.” He sighed, “Thank you, Holly.”

She laughed, “Don’t go thankin’ me just yet. Let’s be sure ya don’t run into Skreek first.”

Though not as amused by the thought as she appeared to be, Spark laughed a little as he left.

Regardless of her attitude she was extremely helpful, and more than worth keeping around―and for more than just the fact that she could be helpful when he wanted to avoid other unsavory characters. He  _ did _ like her very much regardless of their lack of compatibility romantically. She was a good friend of his even if her personality could, at times, very closely resemble sandpaper.

He ended up back in his room, map spread across his desk, and he spent the next several days plotting his course into and through the mountains and around Skreeklavic’s lair. He marked in magic ink the route he’d take, ink that was specially designed for adventures that involved maps and carefully plotted routes.

After  _ that, _ it was merely a matter of gathering whatever else he needed to survive the trip.

Dipping into the fund his parents had left him in order to buy supplies left a strange, although not wholly unpleasant taste in Spark’s mouth. A taste that tingled a little, but didn’t burn his tastebuds or sit bitter on the back of his tongue. Perhaps it was the taste of excitement.

His first order of business in gathering supplies was arming himself. Though he wasn’t much in the way of being a fighter, he knew he’d need to protect himself in the Carpathian Mountains. Skreeklavic and his wolves weren’t the only dangers there, after all. He’d need something that could at least show any being with sense that he was prepared for a fight.

He chose to arm himself with a staff that would appropriately channel his own magic rather than providing any to him. He was a master of his own magic, after all, and not so much any other kind. Particularly not the kinds that could be woven into weapons.

Figuring, however, that it wasn’t likely to do a whole lot in terms of intimidating things into not messing with him (it  _ was _ just a fancy stick), he also armed himself with somewhat more traditional weapons. A dagger found its way to being strapped to his calf. Two horribly dangerous looking swords ended up sitting with astonishing ease on his hips, one on each side. And, finally, a bow and quiver of arrows ended up on his back.

He had what most would consider to be a full arsenal.

He only hoped it would be enough to put things off attacking him... Intelligent things, at the very least. He could probably fight off any wild animals, magical or not, that chose to start a fight with him. People and animals of higher intelligence? Mm. Maybe not.

(He also, of course, spent a great deal of time acquainting himself with the weapons and learning how to use them in… Fairly deadly fashions. Fashions that made Holly giddy to watch. Fashions that made the weapons feel increasingly more at home on his person.)

His next order of business was collecting appropriate clothing for the trip. The Carpathian Mountains could reach very high altitudes, and that in conjunction with the current season meant it would be very cold. He did decently enough in cold without protective clothes, but he wasn’t willing to take chances on this. It could very well be thousands of times colder than he’d ever experienced in the mountains.

He invested in enchanted, insulated clothes that would trap his body heat within them and generate their own to regulate his temperature should it start to drop. He also got some non-enchanted, insulated clothes in case it was not as cold as he was expecting. The bill was larger than he’d have liked, but he found he was hard pressed to mind more than a little bit. Anything he spent would be chump change in comparison to what he might get for finding Jack.

Besides―it was about time he spent the fund his parents had left. He’d been avoiding it like the Black Death since he was barely half a century old.

And, really, despite how expensive this was already turning out to be, he hadn’t put much of a dent in the fund, which just went to show the kind of dedication his parents had had. He by no means came from a well-off family. He and his grandma (and his parents) were relatively average Fae. They had no excess of wealth, really, to be throwing into a fund for him to use if he needed it… And yet they’d done it. His mother had started the fund before she’d ever even met his father, putting in a little money here and there, when she had anything to spare, and after she met his father they’d continued that trend until the day they died.

Considering the several hundred years they’d been together, they’d managed to amass a small fortune for him, which he was endlessly thankful for.

Especially right now.

One of the last things he needed to do (aside from double-checking to make sure he had everything he needed from the previous steps) was collect provisions for the trip.

He knew he’d need high calorie foods since it would be a taxing journey―it was just a matter of figuring out what food was the best to take. Definitely nothing liquid unless he could feasibly keep it warm enough to avoid freezing it solid in its container… Which ruled out a decent amount of foods by default, but nothing that was particularly high on the list of ones he’d been considering taking. Soup wasn’t exactly the most nutrient-rich food in the world, and even less so by Fae standards.

He got it figured out eventually, of course, as well as solving his “no liquid” conundrum in order to have something to drink―Fae needed water almost as much as humans did, after all―, and that solution came in the form of a few new, enchanted thermoses that would keep any hot drink he prepared prior to the trip hot for the entire trip. They’d also keep the drinks, you know,  _ drinkable _ by preventing them from going bad for a time.

If he remembered, the time limit was about four months, and he highly doubted he’d be in the Carpathian Mountains that long.

Month and a half at most.

When the time came to leave, he packed away his provisions and his clothes into a couple of magical bags that he secured to the straps holding his swords. Food and drink on the right, clothes on the left.

He fiddled with his clothes, with the bags, with the straps securing his weapons to him, for several minutes. He wanted everything to be right. To look right. To fit right.

He found he was very, very particular, which was something he’d never really noticed before… Although maybe this sudden rash of particularness came from the situation he was walking into. He was about to venture into the Carpathian Mountains alone, with no one to guide him―of course he’d want everything under his control to be perfect. It was the only way he’d feel even remotely safe.

Once he could no longer fiddle, however, he heaved a sigh and looked at himself in the mirror.

He was a sight to see, that was for sure.

He’d discarded his usual blue leggings and violet lace-up shirt, along with his canvas shoes, in favor of donning one of his new, more wintery outfits. As of right at that moment, he was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt, a form-fitting white coat, white insulated pants, and white boots.

The monochrome was so far from his usual colors that it was almost hard to wear it, and the sight of weapons on him reminded him of his late father.

His father, while an average Fae by every estimate, had been one hell of a warrior in his time. He’d been stronger than a good deal of the Imperial Army’s grunts, and he’d turned down requests to join them on more occasions than Spark could count… But he’d always had weapons on him. He’d always had, at the very least, his bow and a quiver of arrows on his back and a deadly looking rapier on his right side.

He ran a white-gloved hand through the mess of black hair that fell in his face, punching out a sigh as he did.

… What was he doing? What gave him the right? He was just a kid, by the standards of immortals. He wasn’t anything special. He probably wouldn’t even find the prison, and if he did he probably wouldn’t be able to find Jack… And that was assuming he survived the mountains.

He hugged himself, insecurity preparing to eat him alive.

But if he didn’t do this, who would? What kind of person would be willing to throw themselves headfirst into this kind of quest?

It hurt him deeply to realize that the answer was  _ absolutely no one. _

It hurt him. But it strengthened his resolve better than any reassurance he could have given himself. He may be doing this out of childish fancy. He may be doing it out of misguided chivalry. He may be doing it simply because he felt what had happened was wrong… But at least he was doing it. At least he was willing to put himself on the line for what he believed.

He dropped his arms from around his torso, gave himself one last looking-at, and turned away, toward his door.

Here went nothing.


	4. A Journey's Beginning

Descending the stairs down into the living room of the home he shared with his grandmother, Spark didn’t bother stopping to consider what to say. She knew he was leaving just as well as he did. He supposed the best thing to say would be goodbye.

“Spark, there you are,” She said as he entered, standing from her chair, “You’re leaving today?”

“Yes,” He answered, approaching her.

She nodded, mostly to herself, it seemed, and wrapped him up in a warm hug. He returned it without question or complaint. It was nice to get a warm hug before he set off, after all. It was going to be very cold for a while, and very, very lonely.

“Be safe, oh _ hozò kougu nīg pu.” _ She uttered against his hair. _ Be safe, oh naive flame of mine. _

He smiled, “I’ll be careful, Gram.”

“You’d better be.” She said as she pulled back, voice stern, but eyes crinkling a little at the edges as the result of a smile. “I wish you the best on your journey.”

“Thanks, Gram.” He brushed his lips against her cheekbone, held still so she may return the gesture, and backed away toward the door, _ “Kii kulee ū,” _ He said. _ I love you. _

“And I you, _ kesu kogu.” _ She smiled, shooing him toward the door with wrinkled dark grey fingers and lighter grey hands. _ And I you, my flame. _ “Now go. Go and find your ruins.”

He bowed with all the respect he could muster and turned to exit the home he’d shared with her since the death of his parents so many years ago.

His heart raced in his chest, anxiety and excitement wrapping him up tightly in an uncomfortable cocoon and making each breath feel painful. But that wasn’t necessarily a new feeling to him―he’d always had reactions like that to anxiety. He supposed the excitement only exacerbated the issue. He found he didn’t mind.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he pushed the anxiety out and began his trek toward the edge of his home. He had to reach the edge in order to exit the Fae Realm and enter the one that would lead him to Skreeklavic’s lair and Jack’s prison.

While older Fae could simply port around from any place in the Realm to any Faerie circle in one of the others, Spark had not yet learned how to do that. He didn’t mind, though, because this way he got to say brief goodbyes to everyone who mattered before he reached the edge of the city. Not to mention Fae magic could be finnicky even for older Fae and he had enough problems with his _ personal _ magic that he’d rather not even try any Ancient Techniques.

Given he worked best when he had a focus for his power, an item to channel it into and then out of, he knew the best way to leave the city was at the edge.

He waved and nodded and smiled at many people as he made his way, several of whom performed some shockingly ungraceful double-takes when they registered his outfit and the presence of weapons on him.

“Headin’ off, huh?” Asked Holly, leaning against the outside of her favorite pub and giving him a good looking-at.

“Yep.” He paused to meet her eyes, “If I don’t leave now I might lose my nerve.”

Holly’s lips twitched and she pushed off the wall, clapping him on the shoulder in what was probably the most intimate gesture they’d ever exchanged despite having known each other half a century. “You just be careful, ya hear? Ya’ve got a lotta potential in ya, kid, and I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

Clapping her on the back as well and getting a wholehearted grin for his efforts, he found himself grinning back, “No promises.”

Holly laughed and ruffled his hair, and their encounter only lasted a moment or two longer before he was on his way again.

This time he was not interrupted. Not until he was less than a meter from the edge of the city.

Standing at the area he needed to reach in order to leave was Madame Lazuli.

He slowed to a stop, bowing respectfully to her. She gave a graceful bow in return, blinking her eyes slowly at him in the process in a show of respect typically only performed by high-ranking Fae in reference to other high-ranking Fae. She was treating him as an equal.

He felt his cheeks heat.

“Madame Lazuli,” He greeted, “To what do I owe the honor?”

She gave an amused noise, turning to gaze out toward the lower parts of the Fae Realm―the slums, for want of better descriptors. “I simply wished to see you off, little Spark.”

He joined her where she stood, staring out at the slums as well for a moment, “I appreciate it very much, ma’am.”

Another amused noise left her. “You are certain you wish to do this?”

“As certain as I am of the fact that I have better control of my powers with a focus object,” He chose to reply, one hand coming to rest with a striking amount of familiarity on the hilt of one of his swords. “If I don’t do it, no one will.”

She smiled, chuckling a little. “That’s the spirit, little Spark.” She turned to face him and, to his very intense shock, left a careful kiss in the center of his forehead. “Go forth with my blessing. I am certain you will succeed.”

He blinked, trying to process what had just happened, and within the space of a second she was gone.

After lingering a moment longer, he shook himself, steeled himself, and headed out at last, hitting the edge of the city and summoning the power necessary to port himself out of the Fae Realm.

The air around him shimmered, red and violet sparks flying, and the next step he took made the city blur and fade out.

And then the blurring became a small human town near the base of the mountains, and he stepped lightly out of the Faerie circle he’d materialized in. The base of the mountain wasn’t the _ best _ place for him to come out, necessarily, but it was the best he could do as, any further up, there were no habitable places for a Faerie circle made of anything but rocks, and those weren’t near as strong as one formed naturally by mushrooms. It was harder to establish a connection to them―only Fae who knew the Ancient Techniques could use them with any degree of certainty.

No, they weren’t reliable for him, and he’d planned for that.

This town was the first step on his journey, though he wouldn’t be staying long and he wouldn’t be noticed while he was there. He just needed to get his bearings, get his map ready, and then he’d be set.

No time like the present.


	5. Through the Mountains

It was, as Spark expected, much colder in the mountains than he had ever experienced before.

The wind bit into his cheeks, numbed his nose, and before the first hour was up he had donned a scarf to cover those sensitive parts and pulled the fur-lined hood of his coat over his head. Though it did little to stop the wind from stinging his eyes with the cold, he was more than used to dealing with that. It couldn’t stop him.

The first few days in the mountains were… Rather unforgiving, he decided.

He encountered more wild animals than he expected, and while they gave him a chance to alternatively test his theory about being able to scare them off or his ability to dispatch them, they were still troublesome. He wasn’t the warrior his father had been by any means, and he wasn’t particularly used to hiking, so there wasn’t much energy leftover when an encounter did occur. His body was weaker than strictly healthy for this trip.

He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

If he’d waited any longer in order to train, he’d have lost his nerve and _ probably _ been drafted into the Imperial Army.

Not to mention, if there was a better way to learn his limits, he wasn’t sure what it was.

Thankfully, he didn’t encounter anything terribly sapient until nearly two weeks into the trip, by which point he’d rested enough to regain his energy and was figuring out he was actually _ really _ good at this hiking thing, primarily because he seemed to be discovering an unprecedented level of endurance somewhere under the soft, squishy person he knew himself to be. He’d made much more progress than he’d expected at this point.

And, also something to be thankful for―the first sapient being he encountered was one of the Werewolfian Horde, out on patrol. That meant he was getting close to his goal; not that he wasn’t already aware, given his map, but still. It was nice to see other proof.

Now, he likely should have been afraid upon meeting the wolf… But he was well aware that he was more than two miles outside of Skreeklavic’s lair and therefore not even _ touching _ the Horde’s most valuable territory.

He thought, for a moment, about trying to run away from the wolf. Trying to hide himself in the snow and wait until the wolf left. Anything to avoid a conflict.

But in the interest of not catching the wolf’s bad side (and because he knew the wolf had likely already caught his scent), he simply stayed where he was.

The wolf sniffed and turned to him, and he should probably note that he only knew they were one of the Horde because he recognized their armor. All of the Horde had armor like theirs, and they were currently in their human form so he had no other way of knowing… Although the sniffing would be a good hint.

“Who’s this?” The wolf asked, cocking their head and stepping toward him.

Their voice was gruff, the hints of a growl curling around their words, and looking at them he could see their body language had turned defensive. They’d been on alert before, but now… Now there was a perceived threat.

“I am Spark,” He said, calmly, “I mean no harm. I’ve no intention of encroaching upon your territory.”

The wolf sniffed again, narrowed eyes watching him warily. They stepped closer, and he stood still. He let them get as close as they wanted in spite of the way it made his heart start performing an incredibly complicated tap routine on his ribs. And they sniffed him, circled him.

Finally, stepping away, they slowly nodded, “You smell like a fae,” They said, “But what’s a kid fae doing all alone out here?”

“I’m on a quest,” Spark told them, “I’m looking for something.”

“A quest,” The wolf repeated, amusement at last creeping into their voice. “Didn’t know Fae went on quests.”

“They usually don’t.” He said with a little laugh, “But I just couldn’t resist.”

Barking a laugh, the wolf simply nodded at him again, grinning. “What are you looking for, little fae?”

“An old portal,” He told them, “Somewhere higher in the mountains. I’ve been told there’s something important inside.”

“An old portal,” The wolf uttered, head cocking to the side. “Well, there’s certainly not any portals on our territory. We would know.”

“I didn’t think it would be.” Spark, nonetheless, tried to ignore his disappointment. He had hoped that maybe the wolf had at least an _ inkling _ of where the portal might be, but he couldn’t be too surprised that they didn’t. “Thank you anyway.”

The wolf nodded to him, then tracked back to where they’d been before. Lookout duty, perhaps?

“Hope you find your portal, little fae,” The wolf said, “Be a shame for a brave little thing like you to make this trip for nothing.”

“A shame indeed,” Spark agreed, checking his map to be sure which way he was meant to be going. “Maybe I’ll see you on my way back.”

“Maybe.”

And then, without any further fanfare, he was allowed to continue on. No conflict. No real reason to be afraid. All he had to do was appear innocent and nonthreatening―which wasn’t hard because, really, that was what he was. He may know how to handle his weapons and he may be older than most people thought on seeing him the first time, but he was no match for a Werewolfian soldier, and he was likely younger than the wolf had been.

So.

Innocent and nonthreatening.

It was the perfect cover, because it wasn’t necessarily a lie, and therefore he didn’t have to feel bad.

Not that he should probably feel bad _ anyway, _ given the Horde were regarded as villains by… Well, pretty much _ everyone… _ But he’d seen Skreek often enough growing up to not have as much fear of the Horde as he probably should have.

Honestly, though, if their leader was that friendly with Holly, he couldn’t have been _ that _ bad. Rude, sure, but not unspeakably evil… Holly would have beaten him senseless.

Or, you know, he would have beaten Holly senseless.

Whichever.

He spent the next two days or so making his way to very nearly the top of the mountains, a mile away from and in full view of Skreeklavic’s lair by the time he reached that point. Since the wolf had said there was no portal in Skreek’s territory, and Spark wasn’t yet desperate enough to cross into the territory to doublecheck, himself, he chose to start here and work his way outward. Eventually he would come either come upon the doors leading to the portal or he would pass what constituted as “not far from Skreeklavic’s lair” in a reasonable sense and venture back to check in another direction.

There were fewer encounters on this leg of the trip, and he appreciated that very much.

Aside from a couple of regular wolves and a single, easily dissuaded Graceful Terror, he didn’t see anyone or anything… Well, there were a couple of squirrels, too, and a rabbit, but that was beside the point. None of the latter had tried to bite him or lure him to his death via nightmares, unlike the wolves and the Graceful Terror.

He checked his rations after making camp near the top, and was pleased to find he still had about a month and a half’s rations, which meant he could spend about a month searching the mountains for the portal before he had to head back down to either restock or return to his home, defeated.

If he moved quickly, a month should be more than enough.

In the morning, he packed his things as quickly as possible and set out.

He found nothing that day, nor the day after.

He didn’t let it discourage him and simply continued on.

Eventually, some days later, he had to double back and head in the other direction, which went much faster as he had already checked the areas he passed through and could simply half-jog his way back to the starting point in about half the time it took to get out as far as he had… Which was still several days, of course.

He prepared to find nothing in the next direction he went, but went nonetheless, eyes peeled and whole body alert.

It was another two weeks before he found anything but Skreeklavic’s lair, and he was admittedly a little peeved when he did find it.

“It”, of course, being a looming set of doors set into the face of the mountain to the East of the Skreek’s lair. It was just out of sight of the looming castle that crested the mountain, and just far enough away that it constituted being out of his territory… By about four meters.

What little irritation Spark felt, of course, was drowned by the feeling of trepidation and excitement that bloomed as he started to realize that _ this _ was what Lazuli had meant. This was the entrance to Jack’s prison.

He swallowed hard, stepped up onto the snow-dusted stairs before the doors, and looked up at the looming doorway.

The words, practiced so many times in his search, bubbled up without effort.

_ “Ancient prison of ice and solitude, hear my voice. Open wide the door and deliver to me the Spirit of Winter.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thanks for reading! Hope to see you in the next part.
> 
> Next time: What has Jack been up to all this time?


End file.
